


Stifling

by Miyamashi (MorganEAshton)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Dirk waxes poetic about Jake, I actually wrote a normal romance fic for once, I am so sorry Minihoof, Land of Tombs and Krypton, M/M, Rudimentary chemistry, Unbridled DirkJake feels, dirk's pov, second-person, sorry it's so short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:12:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganEAshton/pseuds/Miyamashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The air here is stifling.</i> </p><p>A one-shot about Dirk and Jake in the Land of Tombs and Krypton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stifling

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim on my phone in the middle of the goddamn night, in one sitting. You have been warned.
> 
> Partially inspired by [this gorgeous pic](http://msphamletmachine.tumblr.com/post/35772396817/what-if-dirks-aggressive-courtship-demanded).
> 
> (This was just a random on-the spot thing while staying the night at a friend's. I'll be back to the regularly-scheduled program of updating OCiDiD soon enough.)

The air here is stifling.

Krypton isn't poison. It's an asphyxiant, invisible and deadly, until it's sparked into light. 

Then it's green.

It's perfect symbolism, you think, of the way just seeing Jake in person stole the breath from your lungs.

You found out about the chemical's effects the hard way. It wasn't the gas that choked you. No, that would have been easier. What did came before you ever personally reached your land, in the form of a heart-stopping message from Sawtooth:

_Minihoof is dead._

Your friends were sympathetic, at the very least, moreso than they probably would have been had you actually even mentioned what happened to Cal. You still did your best not to show you were grieving. You think you succeeded, if only because you never did figure out how to show emotion in the first place.

Your only solace was that she wouldn't have suffered, just drifted off peacefully to sleep.

It took a while--though you wouldn't admit it--to stop silently regretting that you didn't ask Sawtooth to check on her earlier, but eventually you did, with some help.

That help was gaining one family when you lost another. 

It was their unfamiliar presence, and their even more unfamiliar touches. 

It was the forever pledge of the needle in your fingers and the ink in his skin. 

It was the moment when he sealed it with a kiss.

You can't kiss him now, and you hate it. It's a cruel kind of irony, the deja vu of having only an expressionless robotic visage for company. You miss the give of his lips, the shape of his mouth when he talks, the way his voice was so much more startlingly real without the mechanical echo of the filters.

You think you starve for his touch more than you would starve for air. The feel of skin-on-skin still hasn't stopped being a novel thing, and you don't know that it ever will. 

You touch all you can. You know he missed it on his island, and he knows you dreamt of it in your tower, but it feels impersonal and wrong without his face. 

The paint is chipping on his mask where yours keeps bumping against it because you're trying to at least see his eyes. You know the paint on yours is wearing thin where he keeps lifting your shades-visor to see yours.

"Hold your breath," you say one day. It comes out harsher than you intended, snapped like your resolve. 

He tilts his head in question, then his eyes widen when he sees your mask lift in demonstration. He follows suit.

You know it's risky, but you could care less. Your lips lock and your tongues tangle and you try not to breathe. It's not that hard when you wouldn't have had room to anyway.

Too soon, he breaks away. His face contorts in pain, and he makes an odd hiccuping noise as he stifles back a gasp. He looks sorry as he puts the mask back down. 

It's like a drug, you realize. The more hits you take of the wetness and the softness and the perfect juxtaposition of them both against the rough tug of his teeth on your bottom lip, the more frequently you have to do it, and the more reckless you get. You find that the narcotic effect of the krypton, in small doses, actually amplifies the way he makes your head swim with that heady, pleasant warmth.

You feel invincible when you're kissing him. You think that only memories of Minihoof remind you of your fragile, godforsaken mortality, and keep you both from going under.

You think that perhaps it should intimidate you, the way the monsters pursue you more violently, the closer you grow to your Denizen's lair. You think perhaps it should terrify you, the way Yaldabaoth towers like the skyscrapers above you both; the way you can't look it in the eyes without being blinded, even through your shades.

But your blade cries out more for the feel of splitting bone, the more desperately you thirst to drink the air from his lips. You do not fear the flaming serpent when it spells the end of your journey through this hell of burning, unfulfilled desire.

Pyramids greet you on the other side of the gate that marks the end of your quest. The light of neon paints the contours of his face in brilliant hues, and perfectly defines every feature. You're not sure if it's a trick of the light, if his features have sharpened over time, or you just forgot what he really looked like, but he seems even more handsome now than you remember. He's surreal, more brilliant than the sun you overcame only moments before, his unbridled breath hotter, as it mingles with yours.

It's like meeting him for the first time all over again. He's harder now, more mature and perhaps a bit more cynical, but still Jake all the same. He says you've lightened up a a lot in turn. Your movements are synchronized, a leftover habit from the unknown time you spent dancing together in battle. Your thoughts seem to move in tandem, too, as you finish each others' sentences, and reference the growing library of inside jokes you've collected in your travels. You're melding together a bit, and it's even more obvious now that you're breathing the same air. You think maybe you're only just now meeting yourself, as well.

Your love for him is stifling.

Jake isn't poison. He's an ambrosia, igniting in you a spark that you hadn't even realized until now that you'd been missing.

Krypton's most prominent specral lines aren't just green, but also brilliantly orange.

It's perfect symbolism, you think, of how you and he seem forged from the same element.

You learned your lesson the hard way. It wasn't from getting closer to Jake that your bond grew stronger, but from the way you were kept apart. It's fitting that now that you've left your land, his smile carries with it a heart-stopping message:

_For the first time, you, Dirk Strider, are alive._

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
